


show me yours, i'll show you mine

by theagonyofblank



Category: So Nyuh Shi Dae | Girls' Generation
Genre: F/F, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-15
Updated: 2014-03-15
Packaged: 2018-01-15 20:30:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1318189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theagonyofblank/pseuds/theagonyofblank
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A blonde and a brunette walk into a bar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	show me yours, i'll show you mine

**Author's Note:**

> I've been having a serious case of writer's block for the fics I've been working on... and evidently, the solution was for me to sit down and write 3.5k of smut.

A blonde and a brunette walk into a bar.

(There’s a joke in here somewhere.)

 

 

*

It’s not a place she frequents.

She’s the type of girl – _woman_ – who prefers to catch up with friends over an expensive meal and a glass of wine. And okay, that’s not entirely true, but she’s learning to be that woman. She still likes pop music: the obnoxious, in-your-face kind that teen stars sing to and that she can throw her hands up in the air and dance to like no one’s watching.

Maybe it’s immature, but it’s a great form of stress relief.

(She thinks she should look into zumba classes at the gym: it probably offers a similar kind of relief.)

Her choice of venue tonight is a bar tucked between two quiet alleyways. It’s cold out, but there are a few smokers outside, flicking their cigarettes onto the pavement when they’re done before stepping back inside.

Tiffany follows one of them in and is greeted with a haze of smoke when she enters. She forces an exhale, nose wrinkling at the stuffy air, and tries not to think about how every single item of clothing on her body (and her hair, oh god, her hair) will need a thorough wash after she’s done with this bar.

There’s a band playing up front, crammed onto the tiny stage, and they’re not very good, but somehow it only adds to the charm of the establishment.

Two off-tune songs later, Tiffany makes her way to the bar and orders herself something sweet. That’s when she notices her: a blonde, seated primly on the edge of the barstool, sipping her cocktail and looking thoroughly unimpressed with the music.

“Not your usual cup of tea?” she asks as she takes a sip of her drink – it’s sweet, _too_ sweet – and leans against the counter. She almost winces at her own words, but manages not to at the last minute.

“They’re not very good,” the woman responds, and Tiffany finds her honesty refreshing.

“No,” she agrees, “they’re not.”

The woman looks at her for the first time, and Tiffany feels breathless under the weight of her gaze. And then, “I’m Jessica.”

Tiffany smiles. “Tiffany.”

 

 

*

It’s not hard, she realizes, to get Jessica to come home with her.

They spend an appropriate amount of time making small talk. Jessica’s not great at it, but Tiffany is nothing if not determined – and by the end of the hour, she notices a subtle shift in Jessica’s body language. Even if she hadn’t, there’s no mistaking the way Jessica’s leg brushes against Tiffany’s calf, the way the weight of her knee presses into the side of Tiffany’s thigh.

Jessica’s swirling her drink, and Tiffany tries not to notice the shape of her fingers and the way they wrap around the glass. She tries to erase the image of them tangling in her own hair, pulling hard, and then tugging at her nipples before traveling downwards, but it’s not an easy task.

She takes another swallow of her drink and wonders if that’s courage she feels, burning a line down the back of her throat.

“Want to get out of here?”

Jessica’s eyes narrow at the question, but she doesn’t look displeased. The seconds tick by, and the silence stretches between them, and Tiffany wonders if she should repeat herself. Finally, Jessica inclines her head in a nod, and Tiffany feels the flutter of uncertainty at the pit of her belly give way to something much more pleasant.

 

 

*

The cab ride home is excruciatingly long.

Jessica trails her fingers up Tiffany’s skirt, dipping under to brush against bare flesh, and Tiffany feels her legs part of their own accord. Her head has fallen back against the headrest and her breathing has shallowed and from time to time, she’ll catch the driver’s eyes in the rearview mirror.

“Jessica,” she murmurs when she feels fingers skate across the inside of a thigh, and grips the other woman’s wrist tightly.

Jessica’s hand goes slack, and Tiffany feels more than hears Jessica’s huff, a light exhale against the shell of her ear. When she opens her eyes, she sees that Jessica isn’t irritated. She’s… amused, maybe, but not irritated.

“I wouldn’t have pegged you for the prudish type,” Jessica says, voice low, and she drops a kiss on Tiffany’s shoulder before leaning back on her side of the seat.

Tiffany turns away from her to stare out of the window and at the city lights that flash by. It’s easier to do that than to dwell on the ways she’d have Jessica right here, right now, if not for—

Well.

Tiffany has never been very good at _sharing_.

 

 

*

To say that Tiffany forgot to account for any awkwardness that might result from letting a complete stranger into her home would be nothing short of accurate.

She places Jessica’s jacket next to her own on the coat hanger by the door, and gives the blonde woman a moment to take the apartment in. She can’t tell what Jessica’s thinking as her eyes trail over to the far wall – painted pink, because she’d wanted a dash of colour in her otherwise bare apartment – over to the open kitchen. She notices the way Jessica’s eyes linger on the closed door that leads to her bedroom, and Tiffany feels the flush creeping up on her cheeks despite herself.

Jessica looks at her, then, and Tiffany finds herself stepping forward, placing a hand on Jessica’s waist and fitting another under the curve of her jaw. And then they’re kissing, their first real kiss, and Jessica’s lips are soft and she smells like cherries and smoke and Tiffany tugs her bottom lip between her teeth before she pulls away, breathing heavily.

Jessica whimpers at the sudden loss of contact, a sound that Tiffany feels deep in her core, and Tiffany silences her by pressing her lips against hers again. Then she’s kissing her way down Jessica’s front, pulling insistently at her top and popping a few buttons in her impatience.

Jessica glances at her in disapproval, pushing gently at Tiffany until she looks up at her.

“What?” Tiffany asks, distracted.

“I have rules,” Jessica says after a moment, breathing out unsteadily.

The statement is so out of place that Tiffany laughs. “Shouldn’t you have mentioned this back at the bar?”

Jessica shrugs, unconcerned. “Rule number one: This is a one night thing.”

Tiffany’s not unfamiliar with the concept, and she nods.

“Rules number two: I leave tomorrow morning, no questions asked, no numbers exchanged.”

It’s almost insulting, the way Jessica thinks she’s never done this before. It’s even more insulting that she’s _right_ , but Tiffany knows how these things work. And she’s always appreciated honesty, especially when it comes to matters like these. “Anything else, princess?”

“You owe me a shirt.”

Tiffany usually has pretty good self-control, but she can’t help the way her eyes are drawn to the sliver of skin she’d exposed while unbuttoning Jessica’s shirt. She wants to slide Jessica’s shirt off, press her fingers into her hips, trail them up her ribcage to cup her breasts, and trace the sharp outline of her collarbones. She wants—

“Did you hear any of that, or are you too busy staring at my breasts?”

Tiffany glances up again to smirk at Jessica, completely unembarrassed at having been caught in the act. “They’re nice breasts,” she says by way of explanation, ignoring how warm she suddenly feels, and she presses in closer, brushing some of Jessica’s hair back. “I have plenty of shirts you can wear.”

Jessica’s looking at her with half-lidded eyes, and Tiffany can only stare some more. “You’re not getting it back.” Her voice has dropped an octave, and god, Tiffany just wants to—

Correction, Tiffany _is_ surging up to kiss Jessica, legs on either side of her and pushing back insistently until there’s a soft _thump_ and a muted exhale as Jessica hits the wall. “That’s okay,” Tiffany murmurs in a delayed response. Her fingers are tracing small patterns against the curve of her hip bone, and Jessica’s so skinny – almost unhealthily so – and Tiffany pulls back for a moment, frowning.

“Why’d you stop?” Jessica’s voice is quiet but no less insistent, and she’s looking at Tiffany with that same look of disapproval. Tiffany thinks that she’s already starting to get used to her, and she would laugh, but she can’t seem to find the humour in that – not right now, anyway, when Jessica is pulling her forward and whispering into her ear, “Don’t stop.”

And Tiffany’s all too happy to comply, fitting her lips to the curve of Jessica’s neck and moving upwards until she can plant a kiss – gentle at first, but it ends up being more desperate than she’s willing to admit – on Jessica’s lips.

 

 

*

She doesn’t know when they agreed to take it slow, but that’s exactly what they’re doing.

Tiffany takes her time running her hands up and down Jessica’s sides, and uses the moment Jessica grinds down and into her – back pulling away from the wall for a brief second – to her advantage, fingers moving to unclasp her bra. There’s a moment when the clasp won’t give, but Jessica doesn’t seem to notice, her hips moving of their own accord and bumping inelegantly into Tiffany’s.

And then Tiffany is sliding the bra off Jessica’s shoulders, and she has no idea why she’s going so slowly, but as soon as she gets the chance, she reaches out to cup Jessica’s breasts, then covers a pert nipple with her tongue, her lips.

Jessica’s answering groan only makes Tiffany want to consume Jessica, every last bit of her, until she’s raw and wanting before Tiffany, and Tiffany has to close her eyes and pause to compose herself.

This is agonizing, how slowly they’re going, and Jessica must share the sentiment, because she pulls Tiffany away from her breast and tugs at the long-sleeved top Tiffany’s wearing. “Why are you wearing _clothes_?”

A soft chuckle escapes Tiffany’s lips before she can stop it, and she steps back to remove her shirt, pulling it over her head with both hands and letting it pool to the ground next to her feet. “Better?” she asks, even though she can see the answer, clear as day, on Jessica’s face, in the way her eyes soak up every inch of Tiffany’s body.

“Yes,” Jessica breathes anyway, and Tiffany lets Jessica take the lead, lets Jessica push her backwards. She’s buzzing with nervous energy, and her waist is warm where Jessica’s hands are resting. She’s not quite sure where Jessica’s leading her, kicking her discarded shirt out of the way before it gets _too_ trampled on, and grins when the back of her knees hit the side of her couch.

Jessica pushes at her hips one last time, and Tiffany’s falling back into the couch easily. She reaches a hand out on her way down, tugging Jessica along with her, and that’s how they end up, sprawled on the narrow couch with Tiffany staring up into Jessica’s dark eyes and Jessica nestled between Tiffany’s legs. Tiffany feels her heart hammer against her chest, and suddenly she’s remembering another set of eyes, lighter, brighter, but no less intense, and fingers more slender than the ones trailing across her skin.

She swallows, pushes up on her elbows and presses a hard kiss to Jessica’s parted lips. She sits up, then, guides Jessica back, and then their positions are switched, with Tiffany’s knees bracketing Jessica’s hips. She traces the outline of her waist and it’s not long before her fingers find purchase on the top edge of Jessica’s jeans. She trails her hand over and down to undo the button, and soon the zipper is sliding down as well. Tiffany helps Jessica shimmy out of her jeans, and she gives a final tug and then she’s staring at an expanse of smooth skin.

Tiffany places a light kiss on the inside of Jessica’s thigh, her nose nudging the edge of black cotton. She feels Jessica tremble beneath her ever so slightly, and runs a soothing hand up and then back down Jessica’s thigh. She repeats the motion, once, twice, until Jessica is rolling up to meet her, and it’s only then that she hooks her fingers around the band of Jessica’s underwear and she pulls it down and off her legs.

Settling back between Jessica’s legs, Tiffany swipes a careful thumb along the juncture of where Jessica’s thigh meets her groin, and she watches, fascinated, as Jessica’s legs part for her. She glances up, trying to gauge the other woman’s reaction, but Jessica’s eyes are closed and her breathing is coming out in shallow, measured breaths.

Pressing an open-mouthed kissed on the other side of this junction, Tiffany smirks at the way Jessica’s hips roll up in an attempt to meet her. It’s Jessica’s quiet whimper, though – so soft that Tiffany has to strain to hear it – that makes Tiffany dart her tongue out to give an experimental lick. She’s not expecting the upward surge of Jessica’s hips again, stronger than the last time, and has to fit her hands around her thighs and push her back down. This time, her lips follow suit, and she kisses Jessica directly on her center.

Jessica lets out a low keen that sends a spike of something pleasurable down Tiffany’s spine, and she grinds down onto nothing, groaning in frustration. She doesn’t get to think about herself for long, though, because Jessica is staring at her, eyes impossibly wide and dark, and Tiffany leans back down, laving her tongue over sensitive flesh, circling over a hardened nub, and Jessica’s making these little noises and Tiffany wants her to stop and keep making them at the same time, and maybe she’s trying to compromise, so she slides two fingers up and _in_ , delights in the new way Jessica gasps.

She waits until Jessica’s adjusted, and then she starts moving again, slowly at first, her hand bumping clumsily against Jessica’s clit.

“Oh,” Jessica manages, flexing her hips up to meet every thrust of Tiffany’s hand, and Tiffany is impressed with the way she manages to hold on to some shred of composure while—while doing _this_. It makes Tiffany redouble her efforts, and she closes her lips around Jessica’s clit, curls her fingers, and then Jessica is coming apart right before her eyes, her back ramrod straight, and a few long moments pass before she relaxes again, looking down at Tiffany.

“Come here,” is what Jessica says, her voice sex-warm and tinged with sleep, and Tiffany obeys, sliding out of her. Jessica gasps at the motion, shifts under Tiffany once again, and then pulls her up to meet her lips in a lazy kiss.

The throbbing between Tiffany’s legs only intensifies, and she pulls away, chest heaving. She’s sort of resigned herself to taking a cold shower, or finishing things off herself once Jessica falls asleep – because there’s no denying the sated look in her eyes and the drooping of her eyelids. Tiffany’s almost jealous as she untangles herself from Jessica and shuffles towards the kitchen.

“It doesn’t seem fair—”

Tiffany turns around to see Jessica sitting up.

“—that you’re _still_ dressed.”

Tiffany opens her mouth to argue – she’s only _half-_ dressed, and anyway, who is Jessica to be complaining, when she’s already gotten what she’s wanted out of this? – but Jessica stands and crosses the space between them in three fluid steps. Jessica’s standing so close to her that Tiffany can feel the warmth of her body, and her eyes inadvertently drift down to Jessica’s lips, all thoughts of protesting gone in the blink of an eye.

They’re stuck in this weird limbo, and there’s a split second where Tiffany’s reminded, again, of long, lean legs and kinder eyes. Tiffany watches Jessica watch her, and is saved from having to make the first move when Jessica reaches her hands behind Tiffany’s back to undo her bra. Jessica backs her into a wall – actually, Jessica backs her into the _door_ , and Tiffany pushes back gently, shifting them over so that there’s nothing digging into her back.

And then there’s a cool hand sliding under her skirt and Tiffany jumps, startled. “Cold,” she says, even as she lifts a leg and hooks it around Jessica’s leg, pulling her in. She feels Jessica struggle with her underwear, pushing it down to her knees, and Tiffany inhales sharply when Jessica slides in with no further warning.

She thinks, briefly, that this would be much more comfortable if they did it in the bed that’s just in the next room, separated from them only by this door that they’re pressed up against. But then Jessica is pulling her in for another kiss and then sliding down to her knees, and—

“ _Jessica._ ”

—Tiffany’s eyelids flutter shut and she stops thinking altogether, the remnants of her old memories chased away by the constant pressure of Jessica’s tongue right where she needs it.

 

 

*

The clock in the kitchen reads five minutes past two in the morning.

Tiffany is slumped against her bedroom door, her head smarting from where she knocked it against the doorknob on her way down. Her skirt’s hiked up to an indecent degree and exposes most of her thighs, and she’s catching her breath after coming down from a rather glorious high. Jessica is tracing absent patterns on the silk of her skin, a very smug look plastered on her face, and Tiffany can’t believe that her body is already responding to Jessica’s touch.

She’s still sore, though, and doesn’t want to give Jessica even more reason to be insufferable, and so she moves her leg away.

If Jessica’s surprised by this, she doesn’t show it.

“So,” Jessica says, sounding bored out of her mind even as her eyes take Tiffany in. “Do you have a bedroom around here, or…?”

Tiffany huffs and gets to her feet, hauling Jessica up with her.

“It’s right here,” she says, annoyed, as she turns the knob and opens the door.

Her bedroom’s not any different from any other bedrooms – at least, Tiffany doesn’t think so – and so the long silence that comes surprises her. She thinks, at first, that Jessica’s taking in the room, but when she finally glances at Jessica out of the corner of her eye, she realizes that Jessica’s looking at _her_. She licks her lips, feeling strangely self-conscious all of a sudden, even though she knows there’s no need for it.

Before she can say anything, Jessica’s lips are on hers again, gentle and probing. Tiffany feels her skirt being pulled off and helps to kick it off, and she’s finally, fully naked and bare for Jessica to see. She walks backwards until she hits the bed, and then Jessica’s crawling on top of her, hands at either side of her face and staring down at her with an inscrutable expression on her face. Tiffany reaches up to touch the crease on her forehead, smoothing out the frown, and pulls Jessica down for another kiss, this one more urgent, and she shudders when Jessica’s bare knee brushes against her center.

She supposes it's just as good a time as any for a round three.

 

 

*

Tiffany wakes up the next morning to a loud crash and a hushed curse.

She shuffles into the kitchen and finds Jessica there, standing with a surprised look on her face, the coffee pot shattered to pieces at her feet. Tiffany yawns, rubbing a hand across her eyes. “Had a disagreement with the coffee machine?”

“We didn’t see eye to eye,” Jessica deadpans, and then adds, a little more apologetically, “Sorry.”

Tiffany waves the apology off with a shrug. “I was going to replace it anyway,” she says, and it’s not a lie. She reaches under the sink for her dustpan and broom, and starts sweeping the shards before dumping them into the trash. “Are you heading out?”

Jessica nods. “Yes.”

“Want a shirt?” The corners of Tiffany’s lips lift up at the question, and by the time she meets Jessica’s eyes, her expression has grown into a full-blown smirk.

“Well,” Jessica starts, drawing out the word, “you _did_ promise.”

Tiffany shuffles back to her bedroom and returns with a top she thinks will fit Jessica. It’s hardly a new shirt, but Tiffany doesn’t want to give something she actually likes away, especially when she’s not going to get it back.

“Thanks,” Jessica says. “I can replace your coffee pot.”

Tiffany shakes her head, thinking of a willowy frame and a woman taller than her, taller than Jessica. “Really,” she says. “It’s fine. You did me a favour.”

Jessica doesn’t look like she believes her, but Tiffany’s thankful she doesn’t push the matter any further.

“Well—” Tiffany starts, only to be interrupted by Jessica pressing her lips firmly against hers. It takes her a moment to react, and when she does, she pushes Jessica into the counter, parting her lips with her tongue and tasting her all over again. She considers turning this into a round—well, whatever round they were on—but then Jessica is pulling back, tucking a stray strand of hair behind the shell of her ear.

“For the coffee pot,” Jessica clarifies, and Tiffany rolls her eyes and kisses her again.

 

 

*

A blonde and a brunette walk into a bar.

(Tiffany’s still not sure what the punch line is.)

 

 

*


End file.
